The Old Ball Game
by Channel D
Summary: The real reason why Eli David is coming to Washington this month! One-shot, whimsy/humor/baseball. Spoiler warning for a minor bit from the season 8 episode Dead Air.


**The Old Ball Game**

**by channeld**

The real reason why Eli David is coming to the US this month!

_written for_: fun; nothing more  
_rating_: K plus  
_genre_: whimsy/humor/baseball  
_starring_: Ziva and the team(s)

_**warning**_**: spoiler warning for tangential events in episode 8.05, **_**Dead Air**_

* * *

_disclaimer_: I own nothing of NCIS, nor of Major League Baseball

* * *

**Part 1**

_November 2010_

"Father." Ziva's tone was cool, but even with all of the anger and resentment inside her, a smile quickly rose within her until it quirked her lips. She did have _some_ happy memories, after all, and when he wanted to, Eli David could make his daughter laugh.

"Ziva. My little girl." It may have been an odd endearment from one in his position, and his history, but there it was. He reached out, but did not hug her. Instead, he fingered a long curl in her hair. "You look well."

Ziva looked aside and frowned. Dulles Airport was big and noisy; it had seemed like a good neutral meeting ground for this meeting that she did not want. "Why are you here?"

"To see you, of course!" He put a winning smile on his face.

"Try again."

"I thought I would take you to a baseball game. It has been a long time since we had a game of catch, you and me, in fact."

"A baseball game? It is November, Father. The season is long over."

"What; the Washington Nationals did not win the World Series?"

She snorted. "Not this year. Now, again: _why are you here?_"

"Well, it does concern baseball, actually…"

"What?"

"I have made an offer to buy the Nationals, and it has been accepted."

Ziva's jaw hit the ground. "You…bought a baseball team?"

"Yes."

"You do not have that much money…" She saw his smirk. "Never mind; I do not want to know where the money came from. Why did you buy a baseball team? When are you going to be here to watch the games?"

"Oh, it is not for me. I have other work to attend to. I bought it for you."

"For…_me?_"

"Yes. As the new owner of the Washington Nationals, perhaps you would like to take your friends to a game now and then."

"I am…the owner of a _major league team?"_

"Yes, and did you know that there are many handsome young men playing baseball, Ziva? You might meet someone nice."

Ziva was still in shock. "Father, what is it you _really_ want?"

"I only want the same thing that any parent my age wants, Ziva."

"What is that?" she asked weakly.

"_Grandchildren."_

* * *

After convincing her father to get on the next plane bound for Israel…even if it meant making stops in San Antonio, Lima, Tokyo, Sydney, St. Petersburg, New York, and Johannesburg (in that order)…Ziva went back to work and pondered this strange turn of events. She vowed not to tell her teammates about her gift. Since her father had agreed to keep the sale out of the news for as long as he could, that should give her time to figure things out.

Baseball would, after all, be out of the news for several months. Not until February would there be more than a faint interest in America's Pastime.

* * *

_February 2011_

"You've got a lot of leave time scheduled for late this month and into March, Ziva," Gibbs remarked.

She froze, afraid she'd been found out. "Is that a problem, Gibbs?"

"Nope. You just have never taken much in winter. You must like winter."

"Ah…no. Or yes. I like winter. I also do not like it."

"That's clear as mud," said Tony.

"Leave Ziva alone," Tim scolded. "She's welcome to take her vacation time whenever she wants to."

"Thank you, McGee," Ziva said. "I just…have interests outside NCIS." _Business interests…_

* * *

The middle of the month found Ziva in Viera, Florida, where the Washington Nationals had their spring training camp. She would be there to watch the players' workout progress as they prepared for the upcoming baseball season.

Mostly, she hung in the background, wearing a hat and large sunglasses which went a long way toward covering her face. She flew down most Thursdays after work, watched the players on the weekend, and then flew back on Mondays. The airfare costs mounted up, but already she was seeing money trickling her way as team owner.

* * *

_March 2011_

By March, the team was playing other Eastern teams in the spring training "grapefruit league" games. "You really should introduce yourself," said her team's general manager. "I've heard them talk. They really want to know who the team owner is."

"Is that necessary?" Ziva frowned.

"They fear the unknown. You might be surprised what meeting you can do."

And so Ziva did one March day, wearing a peach-colored short dress and a winning smile. The team was startled, having no idea that their owner was a beautiful woman, much less a woman at all. After swearing them all to silence as to her identity, Ziva stopped wearing the sunglasses and started enjoying being herself at the games.

* * *

Another Tuesday back at NCIS. "Welcome back," Tony said in a challenging voice. "You're getting mighty tan there, Miss Vacation Day. Are you jetting to Florida to visit that boyfriend of yours?"

"Do not be silly, Tony," Ziva hedged. She thought about saying _There is no boyfriend,_ but that might be like admitting that she was going to Florida. And…her father was partially right. Some of the ballplayers were _very _handsome. There was no need to rule out any possibilities, just yet.

She wasn't able to be in Florida all the time, of course. She valued her job at NCIS. But the players became friendly toward her, and her general manager swore that she was inspiring them to play better. The cellar-dwelling Nationals were actually winning many of their games. The sports press started taking notice, although many clucked and said that the results of the spring training games didn't count, and were no indicator of how the teams would do in the regular season.

In the evenings, Ziva studied the mechanics of baseball with diligence. She read up on the intricate rules and signals, how a pitched ball behaves, a history of player disputes, and even the great legends. There was the curse of the Bambino, Babe Ruth, on the Red Sox in 1918 for selling him (which kept them from winning the World Series for 86 years, supposedly). Then there was the Billy Goat curse on the Chicago Cubs, in 1945. Billy Sianis, owner of the Billy Goat Tavern, brought his pet goat to a game against the Detroit Tigers and was evicted from it because of his goat's smell. He declared that the Cubs would never see a World Series game again.

There were more. Ziva was amused at the amount of superstition surrounding the game—she already knew that some of her players carried lucky trinkets or wore lucky socks or the like. One pitcher would never get his hair cut the day before he was going to play. Rather than irritating her, she found these idiosyncrasies charming.

* * *

**Part 2**

_April 2011_

Opening Day, the start if the baseball season, seemed to come all-too-soon for Ziva. Thoughts of baseball filled every unoccupied niche in her brain, and she even started dreaming baseball. She had not told her NCIS teammates about her role as Nationals owner, not yet, and would put it off as long as she could.

But she wanted her friends to share, at least in part, in her new-found interest, and gave them Opening Day tickets in the President's Club section.

Tim's eyes bugged out. "Holy cow, Ziva. Do you have a rich uncle, or something?"

She only smiled. "I hope you can all come. It would make me happy to have you there."

Only Jimmy looked a little downcast. "To tell you the truth, I hate baseball," he said. "But…luxurious seats? I can't pass that up!"

Ziva laughed. "You are welcome to bring a book, Jimmy, if you think you might get bored."

"The Nationals…Opening Day. Can you arrange that we won't be working then, boss?" Tony asked.

Gibbs smiled faintly. "You all give me leave slips, and I'll see that we get the day."

These most prestigious seats made them feel like royalty on this wondrous day. As her friends got seated (and dug into the generous, free food), Ziva silently fretted. There was so much she had to do. She couldn't just stay here and enjoy the game with her friends, dressed as casually as they were. She was the team owner, and had to do certain ownerly things.

About ten minutes before the start of the game, she folded her hands behind her back. "Er…I will return in a short while."

"Where are you going?" Abby demanded. "You'll miss the start!"

"I will not be long." Ziva back out, and once she was in the corridor, she ran.

The owner had a small, permanent office at the stadium. In there, Ziva changed from her casual brown pants, green sweater and boots to a navy-and-white suit and high heels. She pulled her hair loose from the twist and let it fall gracefully to her shoulder, pinning it back just a bit with two barrettes from her pocket. The players seemed to like the feminine look of long hair. Then she ran to the team locker room.

"Ms. David!" "Ms. David!" "Uh, are you sure you want to be in here?"

Ziva thought about mentioning all the times she'd be in the men's room at NCIS, but decided against it. "I am here to wish you all good luck, and I have faith in you all. Go out there, and break a leg!"

"Ah…okay." It was an odd wish for sports players, but they would humor her.

On the way out she shook hands with the team captain, the coach, and the general manager. Then it was time to get back to her seat.

But first, she had to change back into her casual clothes! She sped back to the owner's office, locked the door, changed quickly, froze momentarily as she tried to remember how she'd had her hair when she came with her friends…oh, yes; pulled back in a French twist. _Bother._ That would take a few minutes to redo, but she had no choice but to put it back that way.

"There you are!" Ducky exclaimed. "You were just about to miss the first salvo of the game, my dear."

"We cannot have that," she said, and sat down to relax.

The Nationals held their opponents, the Atlanta Braves, to a no-hit first inning. Then, on their first at bat in the bottom of the first inning, the Nats delivered a home run…followed by three base hits, which were brought in by a grand slam home run. The stands erupted with screams and yells. Who could believe this of the Nats?

"This is good. This is really good," Tim grinned. "Can they keep this up, though?"

They not only could, but did. By the end of the fourth inning, the Nats lead the Braves, 10-0.

And then the trouble started at the top of the sixth inning.

In a gravity-defying lunge, the Nationals' right fielder caught a ball that seemed impossible to catch…and in doing so, fell on his arm. The out was declared, ending the Braves' inning, but the player was also taken out with a likely fracture.

"It is all right," Ziva murmured. "The coach will put in Tom Walker to replace him. We will be all right."

"Since when did you get to be a baseball expert?" Tony challenged her.

"I just picked it up, here and there. It is America's pastime, and I am now an American."

"Was it on your citizenship test?" Jimmy queried. "I've always wondered what they ask."

"Perhaps. I do not remember."

Her cell phone rang. "Excuse me," she said, and moved out of their private box to take it.

"_Ms. David, we have a big, big problem,"_ said her general manager. _"The seventh inning stretch is coming up, and our singer is stuck in Maryland with a broken-down car. There's no way that he can get here on time."_

Ziva thought about pulling strings and sending a Navy helicopter for the local star, but the red tape would take too long. "Do not panic," she said. "I have a solution. Listen…"

She trotted back to the private box. "Anyone for crème brulee?" she asked brightly, and buzzed for the caterer.

* * *

"Now where are you going?" remarked Tony soon afterwards. "You'll miss the entertainment."

Ziva stopped in mid-rise. Yes, maybe her frequent trips out of the box were starting to seem suspicious. But there was only one out left in the inning, and the seventh inning stretch, the mid-game break, loomed. "I'll…be back," she said, lamely.

Down the hall she flew once again to the owner's office. She donned the navy and white suit once more, having nothing else to wear. It would have to do. About to run out, she saw she still wore her brown boots. _Arrgh!_ Kick them off, slip on hose and high heels. Run out the door, and…_My hair!_ Her braid didn't go well with the suit. Take it down again, comb her hair out, and…her barrettes flew out of her hand and skittered under a heavy piece of furniture. _No!_ There was no time to go diving for them. Then she remembered that she had a colorful scarf in the pocket of her coat. _Yes! Yes! Yes!_

She took off her suitcoat and pulled her blouse out of her skirt. Tying the scarf around her head, she now looked a bit like a rebellious pop singer. That would do. Now she dashed for the players' entrance to the field.

Just in time. She could hear the voice on the loudspeaker saying, _"…in place of Derrick Jox, who couldn't make it here today, we have a special treat for you. Singing the traditional _America the Beautiful_ is a new face on the scene, Miss D!"_

The crowd cheered and cheered. They would have cheered the cleaning crew. Who couldn't help but be giddy, with the Nationals now ahead 12-1?

With confidence Ziva strode to the microphone stand at the center of the field. She only had to get through one verse of the old song, and she knew it well. A tone in the earwig she wore gave her the correct pitch, and she began to sing.

_Oh beautiful, for spacious skies,  
__For amber waves of grain…_

The applause was dazzling as she finished. Ziva smiled and walked off the field gracefully. _How many other team owners would have subbed like this?_ she asked herself, wryly.

" 'Miss D?' I've never heard of her," said Jimmy. "And I thought I knew all the pop stars."

"As did I," said Ducky, nodding sagely.

"I stopped listening to pop music around 1980," said Gibbs. "But I think we do know this one."

"Yes, Ziva is conspicuously absent, and she does have a lovely singing voice," Abby remarked.

"Ziva wouldn't do a thing like that without telling us. Would she?" Tim wondered.

* * *

Ziva thought she had the clothes-changing thing down pat by now. Take off what she was wearing on top and below and switch it with what she wasn't wearing. Ditto, the footwear. And the hair. She ran back to her box seat, feeling a little unbalanced. _I can give up my morning runs if I keep this up,_ she thought.

She wasn't prepared for the curious glances that met her when she reentered the box. "Ziva, did you—" "We heard—" "You missed the wonderful new singing talent!" _"Jimmy!"_ That last was a chorus of the others.

"Ziva, that's an, uh, interesting outfit…" said Tim diplomatically.

Ziva looked down. She was wearing her navy suit coat over her green sweater, and her navy skirt over her brown pants. He brown knee socks did not go well with her navy high heels. "Er…excuse me."

As she ran back out, Tony remarked, "You never know what to expect with Opening Day."

* * *

Ziva returned, looking normal, in a few minutes. It was just in time to catch a phone call that sent her back out. The Nats pitcher, and the three relief pitchers at the Nationals stadium, were all down with ptomaine poisoning from their catered meal! With two more innings to play, how could the Nats win without a pitcher?

"I have a solution," she said to her coach. "I just need a suit in this size, and the loan of a cap and a glove and shoes…"

* * *

"Ziva's not back yet," Abby grumbled. "This is the _strangest _day I've had in a long time, and coming from me, that's saying a lot!"

"I see her," said Gibbs, and he nodded toward the pitcher's mound.

* * *

The Braves' coach argued. _There was no place in major league baseball for ringers!_

_There's no rule against it,_ the Nats' coach retorted. The umpire agreed, and so the game commenced, with the announcement of a replacement pitcher, one _Z. David._ To the fans' delight, she struck out the first two Sox players to come to bat, allowing only the third one to get to first base on a line drive. Then she saw something…the Nats' catcher was wobbling, and signaling for a time-out.

The team huddled, and the catcher, after saying just a few words, sprinted for the men's room. He was apparently sick with the same food poisoning…as were five other players. Three more said they felt queasy, but insisted they were well enough to play.

Too many of the players on the bench were feeling ill to fill in. "Where are we going to find six players on short notice?" wailed the coach.

"I have a solution," said Ziva.

"With all due respect, ma'am, you're pretty terrific, but I don't see how you can play seven positions at once."

"I do not intend to. Just get me six uniforms, six caps and six gloves, including gear for the catcher." She pulled out her cell phone.

* * *

Her teammates met her in the locker room. "Is there any chance at all that, if we agree to do this, you'll tell us what's going on?" asked Tony as he suited up.

"Tony! You are so suspicious," Ziva scolded.

"Does this sort of thing happen at every baseball game? Then I need to go to games more often!" Jimmy said, enthused.

"Yes, Jimmy. It happens all the time," said Ziva. "Now here are your assignments. Jimmy: catcher. Gibbs: shortstop. McGee: center field…"

"_Yes!"_

"Abby: first base. Tony: right field. Ducky: third base. Can you all handle that?"

"To make the Nationals win, my dear girl, we would do anything," said Ducky. "Provided…"

"Yes?" Ziva asked, nervously.

"You come clean with us after the game."

* * *

The NCIS ringers couldn't beat professional, practiced ball players, of course, but the Nats had a far enough lead going into the eighth inning that they were able to keep the Braves from gaining more than one run, and Gibbs drove in one. The final score was 13-2.

Over dinner at a restaurant in Georgetown (Ziva's treat), she poured out the whole story, from her father's arrival in Washington in November to the spring training excursions, leading up to the incidents resulting in the strange roles today. "This was tiring," she said. "From now on, I will stop being a hands-on owner. It was fun, but…it is not who I am. This is what I employ other people to do."

"No more trips to Florida for spring training? Was that your friend, 'M'?" Abby teased.

"I cannot rule out Florida entirely, but…I have no one tie there," Ziva said truthfully. In fact, she had not _one_, but at least _five _ties there on the team…unmarried players who frequently sent her chocolates and flowers. _Father was right. Maybe I should start thinking about his desire for grandchildren…_

"Does this mean no more box seats for guests?" Tony looked pitiable.

"I think seats can be arranged," she smiled.

* * *

_July 2011_

With mid-season and the All-Star game approaching, the unbelievable Nationals were solidly in first place in their league. It looked like smooth sailing to the playoffs, and…dare anyone hope it?...the _World Series_ in October.

Once more Ziva waited at the airport, emotions mixed as her father left the gates. "Why are you here _this _time, Father?"

"To congratulate you on your team's magnificent standings. What else?"

She let him kiss her cheek, but was still cool to him. "That cannot be all."

"All right; I will confess. I knew that you could pull up the Nationals and make them into a championship team. As a baseball fan myself, it has long been a dream of mine to have a truly _World _Series. I have created a baseball team of my own in Israel, to compete in international games starting next year."

"Oh, no…"

"Yes! Here is our logo!" He drew a card from his wallet.

She studied the sunny, sandy piece of artwork. "_The Israeli Desserts._ Father, that is the wrong word. You mean _deserts._ A _dessert_ is a sweet, after dinner treat."

"Eh. My English trips me up again. I have invested too much money in the logo to change it now. We will stay the _Israeli Desserts._ It will be a sweet trip to the World Series."

She favored him with a deadly grin. "Be prepared for the fight of your life, Father."

-END-


End file.
